


I'm No Angel Coda

by fallenangel860



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Cuddling Castiel/Dean Winchester, Episode: s09e03 I'm No Angel, Gen, Human Castiel, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 20:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13197651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenangel860/pseuds/fallenangel860
Summary: To anyone that is sick of Codas, sorry. Just a little fitting ending to I'm No Angel. Castiel is at the bunker with the boys for the night before he has to leave and Dean chooses to comfort his friend. No slash. No romance. Written as kind of pre-Destiel, but you can probably read it as completely platonic if you wish. There's nothing really super overt, mostly subtext so it should work for non shippers. I'd love to hear your feedback. Enjoy.





	I'm No Angel Coda

Castiel knocks tentatively on Dean's bedroom door. When there is no answer from the other side he cautiously pushes the door open a crack and leans in. The room is dark and it takes several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim light leaking in from the hallway. The weak illumination reveals Dean curled on his side beneath the covers. Cas looks at the floor. A nearby inaudible apology falls from his lips and he withdraws. As he begins to ease the door shut he hears his name fall in a gruff, not quite whisper from Dean's lips.

He steps back into the narrow space between the door and the jamb. Dean is sitting up now. Cas can't make out his features, but he can tell that Dean is looking at him expectantly. Becoming human, having made his way here through homeless shelters and transient camps, Cas now understands Deans desire for 'personal space'. The sudden recognition that he'd entered Dean's personal sanctuary unbidden and been caught at it makes him feel decidedly uncomfortable. He looks away, guilty and ashamed. “I'm sorry, Dean. I shouldn't have intruded. I'll go.”

Before he can move, Dean reaches out and flicks on the lamp on the bedside table. “Wait, Cas.” Castiel looks at him, not understanding the guilt and concern written on his friends features. “What's wrong?”

Cas shakes his head. “It's nothing. I should go.” Once again he tries to retreat.

Dean lets out a tired sigh. “No, Cas. We've talked about this. I'll drive you out to the bus depot and get you a ticket wherever you want to go tomorrow after you've had a good nights sleep and gotten some decent food in you.”

The obnoxious well of emotion inside Cas that made his chest hurt and his eyes sting threatened to overwhelm him. It had been difficult enough being forced into a mortal existence and knowing that it was his fault that his brothers and sisters had been cast from Heaven like Lucifer during the fall. It had been worse, though perhaps fitting, to find himself being cast out of the only other home he'd ever known as well. He deserved it, he knew, but that didn't make it hurt less and the reminder that come morning he would have to leave stung. Still, he reigned in his emotions. He could deal with them later. Alone. To Dean he simply nodded. “Of course. I only meant that I should go back to...” he paused unsure what to say at first but then continuing on, “to the room you said I could use.” He gave a halfhearted smile. “Though I doubt I'll get much rest. Sleep appears to be elusive and even if it weren't...” he trailed off, unwilling to continue. Instead he changed his course. “I don't wish to be a burden on you and Sam. Maybe I could... borrow a bag, perhaps a change of clothes? You really needn't drive me anywhere. I can walk into town and find a good samaritan to take me where I'm going.”

Deans brow creases and he looks... sad... though Cas can't understand why. “You aren't a burden, Cas.” Dean looks like he wants to say something else, but doesn't. Instead there's a pause and he asks, “Why can't you sleep?” Castiel just shrugs. “You having nightmares?”

Castiel inclines his head. “So it would appear.” He attempts to laugh, but it falls flat. “You would think that out of the millennia of experiences that I've lived through my subconscious could find more pleasant memories to fixate on. Instead, unconsciousness seems to favor a nightly journey through my worst failures,” he says wryly.

Dean's mouth twists upward in a pained smile. “Yeah, well, welcome to humanity. Even your own mind is out to screw ya.” He jerks his head at the empty space on the bed. “C'mere.”

Cas squints and cocks his head to the side in the amusingly familiar way he has, making him look like a confused but adorable puppy, but doesn't move. Deans patience wears thin and he waves Cas into the room. “Come on already,” he says brusquely and getting out of the bed. It's then that he remembers that he's clad only in a tee shirt and boxer briefs, but can't find it in him to care. “And close the door,” he adds.

Cas hesitates, but does as he's told. Dean pulls back the blankets on the bed and begins fussing with the pillows and smoothing out the sheets. “Alright,” he says as he works, “shoes and pants off and get in,” he finishes, waving a hand toward the far side of the bed and sitting himself on the edge of the mattress.

Castiel falters and his eyebrows draw together like he's trying to solve a particularly difficult riddle in his head. After a brief moment he asks in all seriousness, “Is this an attempt to initiate sexual congress?”

Deans eyes widen instantly in comic horror. “What?! No, Cas!” To himself more than Cas he mutters, “Jesus! Dude gets laid once and his mind goes straight to the gutter.”  
The foot of the bed dips down and Dean looks over at Cas as he toes off his ratty second hand sneakers. The little lamp on the nightstand casts just enough of a glow for him to see the faint pinkness in Cas' cheeks. It's strange to see him reacting like that, showing signs of embarrassment. He looks away again as Cas stands to wriggle out of his stolen cargo pants. “I'm sorry,” he can hear Cas saying. “It's just, the last time I was asked to undress and join someone in bed resulted in fornication.” He hears the muffled sound of fabric hitting the floor as Cas' cargos fall to his feet and he steps out of them. Dean catches a glimpse of plain white boxer shorts out of the corner of his eye but does his best to ignore it and keep turned away. Cas is still talking. “I wasn't sure if the context was universal,” he is saying.

Dean hasn't thought of that. Now that Cas brings it up, he realizes the former angel has a point. Dean is hard pressed to think of a time when cuddling up nearly naked with someone hasn't resulted in some kind of sexual activity. Still... “Well, it's not. Rule number one, never assume sex is on the table. You're an...” he was going to say angel, but realizes that not only is that no longer true, but it's likely a sore subject so he diverts... “Just... you know a thing or two about consent. It's the pretty much the same thing. Rule number two, you're probably better off if you don't go jumping into bed with someone unless you're comfortable with sex being a possible outcome.”

The side of the bed dips under Cas' weight as he sits on the opposite edge. “Oh. That seems like sound advice.”

Dean hurriedly clicks off the light and pulls his legs onto the bed. “Ok, now lay down. Turn on your side so your back is to me, alright?” He feels Cas shift and he draws the blankets over the both of them. Dean swallows a lump of fear and self loathing as he scoots closer to Cas. He puts an arm around his friends middle and pulls him close. He feels Cas stiffen slightly.

“Dean? What is this?”

Dean thinks the question goes deeper than it seems but ignores it. Instead he answers it at face value. “When Sammy was little and he used to have nightmares sometimes it helped if I held him while he slept.” He felt the tension relax somewhat.

“He still has nightmares,” Cas stated matter of factually in his gravelly voice. “So do you, but you don't still hold him at night.”

Dean might never get used to the strange dichotomy that is Cas. The guy knew more about things than Dean could ever hope to understand but he was still so naïve, like an adult and a child occupying the same body. At times it was frustrating and at others it was somehow endearing. Dean sighed again. “It's not exactly something grown men do, Cas. It's something you do for kids, to make 'em feel better. Adults learn to suck it up and deal with it.”

He feels Cas stiffen again. “I'm not a child, Dean. I don't need you baby me. I don't want your pity.”

Cas tries to wriggle away but Dean holds him tighter. “I know that, Cas. I know. Okay? And this... it isn't pity. I just... I need to do this, Cas. I know you probably hate me and I know that I suck at not being a dick, but I need to do something. I just... Let me do this for you at least, please?” he's practically begging now and he knows it.

Cas lets out a soft sigh and softens in his arms again. He curls himself tighter against Dean, pressing into his chest. He's quiet for a minute and Dean is able to relax somewhat in the silence. In a low almost whisper Cas breaks the stillness of the night. “I don't hate you, Dean. How could I? After all I've done? I shouldn't have expected to be allowed to stay.”

The words hurt like a knife to the chest and it's Deans turn to tense up. He grips the former angel tighter. “Don't,” he says, his voice cracking in a pained whisper. He's thankful that he can't see Cas' face. The memory of his expression when Dean had told him he couldn't stay was enough to make tears prick behind his eyelids. “This ain't about you or what you did or didn't do. Everything that's happened between us, all the bad blood and bad decisions, none of that matters. I don't want you to go. If I could, I'd let you stay. Believe me. Right now, you just gotta trust me. You and Sam are all I got. I need you. Both of you. But right now... you just can't stay. Not if I want to keep you both safe. I- I can't explain it right now. I wish I could. I'll tell you just as soon as I can and then you'll come back and everything will be fine again. I swear. ”

Castiel's voice is quiet and calm. Trusting. He always trusts Dean completely, even when he doesn't understand. Even if it hurt. “Okay.”

Dean's lips quivered and a silent tear trailed from the corner of his eye to soak into his pillow. He swallows hard and keeps his voice as steady as he can manage. “Go to sleep now, Cas. I got you.” After a moment he adds just loud enough to be heard, “I'll watch over you.”

Cas settles himself one last time and closes his eyes. Dean moves his hand from Cas' chest and brushes his fingers through the soft feathery hair at his temples. They lay there in silence, Dean stroking Cas' hair, chest pressed to his friends back, as time stretches on. Eventually Cas' breathing evens out and his body goes limp with sleep. Dean curls his arm back around Cas' waist and splays his open palm flat on Cas' chest over his heart. He nuzzles his face into Cas' thick dark hair and presses his lips to the back of his head in a chaste kiss. An invisible knife twists in his gut as he does it. Why couldn't things be easy? Why couldn't he have this? Why does everything always have to fall apart around him? He holds Cas tight and tries not to think about tomorrow. Eventually he drifts off, lulled to sleep by Cas' rhythmic breathing and the comforting warmth of his body heat.

When Dean awakes he's alone. The spot where Cas had lain was empty, nothing but rumpled bedding and a rapidly cooling mattress to prove he'd been there at all. Dean rolls out of bed and pulls on the nearest pair of pants he can find. Cas' sneakers and pants are gone and a shiver of fear snakes down Dean's spine at the thought that maybe Cas has decided to leave without saying goodbye. It wouldn't be the first time. His fears are assuaged when he reaches the kitchen to find his friend fumbling with the coffee maker. Dean smiles to himself before walking over and wordlessly taking the glass carafe from his hands. Cas looks at him and apologetically. “I wanted to do something useful. I thought I could at least make you coffee, as a token of thanks for your help and generosity. It appears to be a more difficult task than I had previously imagined.”

The knife is back, twisting furiously in his chest. Dean clenches his jaw and forces a smile. “Yeah, well, lotta things are harder than they look. Here,” he says, filling the carafe with water at the sink, “I'll walk you through it and you can get it next time.” Neither of them bothers mentioning that there won't be a next time. Dean shows Cas how to fill the reservoir in the coffee maker from the carafe so that there's just enough water. He shows Cas where the filters and coffee are and how to open the top of the maker to put a filter in and measure out the grounds and explains the importance of tossing out the wet grounds as soon as the coffee's done so that they don't get moldy or make the next batch of coffee taste funny by being left too long. Afterward they sit at the table and sip the bitter brew in silence. Cas' hands are wrapped around his mug like he's savoring the warmth. He closes his eyes a though he's trying to etch the memory of this moment in his mind.

Dean can't take it. He gets up and busies himself with breakfast, grabbing meat, cheese, eggs and milk from the fridge and veggies from a cabinet that serves as a pantry. It's one part avoidance, one part wanting to make sure that Cas at least has something more substantial and better tasting than microwave burritos before he goes. He sets some bacon frying in a pan and starts to chop vegetables: peppers, onions, mushrooms, potatoes. He sets them aside and scrambles together some eggs and milk and sets that aside too. When the bacon is done he sets it on top of some paper towels on a plate and dumps the cubed potatoes in the grease. He tosses them with salt and pepper, garlic and onion salt and just a tiny bit of cayenne for kick. He puts a second frying pan on the stove and melts a pat of butter in it as it heats up. He's aware that Cas is watching him intently. He can feel the eyes on his back but ignores it. He adds the eggs to the pan and chooses to concentrate on not burning anything instead of the sick sense of betrayal he feels for what will happen when the meal is over and there's nothing left to do but drive Cas away. He adds cheese and veggies to the omelet, folds it over, and slides everything onto a plate and sets it in front of Cas. The homefries are golden, the omelet perfectly cooked, the bacon crisp but not overdone. He's stupidly proud of this minor accomplishment.

Cas looks at the plate in front of him uncomprehendingly and back at Dean. “What about you,” he asks, “and Sam?”

Dean plasters the fake grin back on his face the way he does when he says that he's fine and is really anything but. “I'm not hungry,” he says earnestly. His stomach is in knots thinking about sending Cas off to God knows where and he doesn't think he could choke down a slice of dry toast if he wanted to. “And Sam, he's still pretty wiped from the trials. I figure it's probably best to let him rest. I'll fix him something later.” That's mostly true. Sam is doing a lot better than he was thanks to Zeke, but he still had a long way to go and could use the rest. He knows that Sam would want to say goodbye to Cas and that he'll have to spin some excuse why Cas would leave without a word but that's a problem for later. Besides, no matter what Sam wants Dean knows that Zeke would probably keep Sam out of the way til Cas was gone anyway.

Cas looks down at the meal before him, unsure, and then hesitantly back at Dean. “This is an awful lot of food. We could share it. I wouldn't mind.”

The corner of Deans mouth quirks up a bit and he steals a piece of bacon from the plate. “Eat!” he commands as he munches his pilfered prize. With a wan smile Cas does. After the first bite he digs in with gusto. Dean watches him and forces himself to swallow. The bacon tastes like ash in his mouth. He gets up silently and does the dishes while Cas finishes eating. When he's done, Dean tells him to go grab a hot shower while he gets some things together.

They meet back up in the library 20 minutes later. There's a small duffel bag on one of the tables and Dean picks it up and hands it over to Cas. There isn't much inside: a small blanket, some toiletries, a couple of extra shirts and a pair of Dean's old jeans, Cas' angel blade, and a paper bag containing two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the road. He also hands over a cell phone and a wallet with a hastily made ID card, $100 cash, and a spare credit card. It isn't much, Dean knows it. The money and credit probably won't go very far, but Dean can only hope that he'll be able to go get Cas and bring him back before it runs out. Cas tucks the phone and the wallet away in his pockets like they're something precious without even going through any of it. Dean supposes that to Cas, after what he'd been through already, they are. Cas looks at him with those too bright blue eyes and tells him thank you. Dean shifts uncomfortably. “One last thing,” he says reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small bundle of square foil packets. He holds them out to Castiel. “Protection,” he states blandly. “You're human now. If you're gonna get your freak on you gotta wrap it up. Every time,” he emphasizes. “It don't matter if they say they're on the pill or that they're clean. Last thing you wanna do is knock up some chick or wind up with the clap... or worse. Got it?”

The dawning of understanding crosses Cas' face and he nods as he shyly accepts the string of condoms. “Prophylactics. I understand.” He stows them away in a pocket. “If you're concerned about my time with April, I assure you she took the appropriate precautions,” he reassures Dean. “Though in retrospect it seems entirely unnecessary considering her intentions.”

Dean says nothing but finds himself breathing a little easier at the revelation. Nothing more is said as they pile into the Impala and drive to the station. The radio for once remains silent, each man too lost in his own thoughts to care enough to switch it on. When they pull into the Greyhound station, Dean walks with Cas to the ticket counter. He pays for a ticket to Idaho and hands Cas the $40 in change. The two men share a hug and Dean pats him on the back, pulling himself away long before he wants to. He gives Cas a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and they exchange sad goodbyes with insincere smiles that neither believes.

From his car Dean watches as Cas hands over his ticket and boards the bus. He stays, watching, until the bus pulls away. He raises his hand as Cas waves goodbye from the window. Without meaning to, Dean recalls a conversation with Anna all those years ago. He remembers her saying that carving out her grace was like carving out your kidney with a butter knife. At once he wonders if Cas had felt that pain too. On the heels of that thought is another one that he doesn't want to think about, but it worms it's way out anyway. He thinks he'd rather feel that than the pain of ripping out his own heart and having to keep on living with that aching hole in his chest. He flips on the radio, hoping to drown out his thoughts and aims toward home. He goes back to the bunker and pours himself a glass of whiskey and waits for Sam to wake up and ask him where Cas is.

 

Fin

 


End file.
